


It's Always the Quiet Ones

by Angearia



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog
Genre: Comedy, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-11
Updated: 2009-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-02 22:01:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angearia/pseuds/Angearia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moist is trying to turn his life around, but runs into unforeseen complications thanks to a friendly demon in Sunnydale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Always the Quiet Ones

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the third SlayAlive Scribes writing challenge prompt, "Battle." Beta'd by Eowyn_315.

Moist rapped on the crypt door, a large pet carrier resting at his feet. The door opened and a red-eyed demon with pale, hanging flaps of skin looked at him curiously. “Oh, hi.” Moist waved at him awkwardly. “I’m here to see a-” He pulled a work-order sheet out of his shirt pocket. “Mr. Clem.”

  
“That’d be me. I’m he,” Clem said, smiling widely.

  
“Uh, do you have any cats on the premises, sir?” Moist nervously wiped his hand on his shirt, inadvertently leaving a trail of moisture from his breast pocket to his waist.

  
“Yeah, sure. Well, kittens. Not fully grown cats. I’m more of a veal kinda guy. Why?” Clem asked. Then recognition lit up his eyes, “Oh, hey! I know you. I saw you on the news. You got arrested for vandalizing a Federal Trust Bank.”

  
“Vandalism?” Moist scoffed. “Try felony attempted robbery. Talk about underestimating my talents. I was breaching a highly secured perimeter through increased conductivity of H20 molecules.”

  
“Huh?”

  
“Water damage. I was gonna break in through the roof. It would’ve worked too if I’d had two more weeks.”

  
“Right, uh, that’s a shame. Look I don’t mean to be rude, but is this gonna take long? ‘Cause I’ve got some pizza rolls and a _Murder She Wrote_ marathon with my name on it. Unless you’d care to join me…”

  
Moist shook his head. “No, no. Well, maybe later. I just need to know where the cats are. And if you wanna help me put them in this carrier, that’d be swell.” Moist raised his hands to show his wet palms. “I don’t want my car smelling like wet cat. Yucko.”

  
“Yeah no, don’t think so,” Clem said, laughing uncomfortably. “No cats around here.”

  
“You just said you had cats.”

  
“No, I didn’t.”

  
“Yes, you did. Look just hand them over. Now. This is official business,” Moist demanded, pulling a laminated card out of his pocket and flashing it in Clem’s face.

  
“PETA? You work for PETA? Oh, heh, Moist. What kind of name is that? Anglo-Saxon?”

  
“No.” Moist scowled petulantly. “And for your information, I’m heading up PETA’s Anti-Evil Demon Outreach division. It’s how I’m giving back to the community for all my villainous criminal-y undertakings.”

  
“PETA? Anti-evil? Ooookay. Um, I’ve gotta go now, but you have a nice night. Buh-bye.” Clem waved as he closed the door in Moist’s face.

  
Moist stared at the door; his shoulders slumped and head hanging low. “Come on, man.” He lightly slapped his face. “Get tough. Don’t give up. Yeah, you can do it. You can doooooooooo eeeeeeeeeet.” Head nodding in self-encouragement, he bounced on the balls of his feet for a minute before shoving through the front door.

  
Clem jumped out of his recliner at the sound of the door banging against the inner wall. “Hey! You can’t just-”

  
“Hand over the kittens. _Now_.” Moist swallowed audibly, rubbing his hands on his shirt. “…please.”

  
“Hey, man, now hold on just a minute.”

  
“Hand ‘em over or…or…” Moist lunged forward and grabbed the plate of pizza rolls on the table next to the recliner, hanging a dripping hand over the plate. “Or your pizza rolls won’t be so crispy and delicious!”

  
Clem gasped. “You wouldn’t. Why? Why would you…why would _anyone_...no, you wouldn’t dare.”

  
“Oh, I dare. I dare plenty,” Moist said, his hand shaking as held the plate of pizza rolls out of Clem’s reach.

  
“Okay, okay,” Clem said, raising his hands placatingly. “Let’s not overreact here.”

  
“Give me the kittens!”

  
“Look, they’re not here,” Clem said, flinching when Moist squeezed his hand into a fist and a few drops of sweat fell onto the plate. “Wait! They’re not here _yet_. My friend is bringing some over with a bucket of KFC. Original and extra crispy.”

  
“You’re lying,” Moist accused him, his hands trembling. “You think I’m playing here? _No one_ takes me seriously. Like making things soggy isn’t a valid lifestyle choice.”

  
“Hey buddy, no judgment coming from this corner. I bet you’re the best at what you do. Like those flash floods up in Oregon – bet that was you, huh? Great job, man. Kudos.” Clem gave two thumbs-up. “C’mon, we can work this out. Let’s just put down the pizza rolls and do the talking thing.”

  
Moist shook his head again. “I’m done talking,” he muttered, clenching his fist and releasing a flood of sweat that soaked the plate and splashed onto the floor.

  
“Oh, why’d you have to go and do that?” Clem said sadly. “Bad move.”

  
Moist dropped the sodden plate and picked up an open bag of Doritos. “You ready to cooperate or you wanna lose another carb-filled snack? You know I’ll do it. How much you willing to lose, huh?”

  
Clem scowled, his affable smile dropping to hint at a sinister inner potential. “No more Mr. Nice Guy,” he muttered. A second later, the flaps on his face pulled back like the opening sides of a Venus flytrap. His tongues shot forward, three feet long, whipping in the air like angry snakes intent on devouring flesh.

  
"Agh!" Moist stumbled back in shock, slipping on a puddle of his sweat and falling to the floor. “…you made me wet myself,” he whimpered, clutching the bag of Doritos to his chest like a security blanket.

  
Face back to normal, Clem shuffled forward and patted Moist on the shoulder. “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to scare you. Well, okay. I did. But you should know better than to mess with a demon’s dinner.”

  
“I’m so gonna get fired,” Moist moaned. “Water cooler time is gonna be brutal come Monday. Moist _failed_. You know that’s what they’ll say. He couldn’t even pick up a bunch of kittens from a non-violent demon with a bad skin condition.” He dropped his head into his hands. “What am I gonna do?”

  
“Have you thought about changing careers? Just the whole non-evil goal is admirable, but… PETA? Wrong way to go, man. ”

  
“…PETA’s evil?”

  
“And how, buddy.”


End file.
